 | Blanid |  |
143
THE TEARS OF BLANID.
There spread a lovely glade all cool and still
Three javelin casts beyond the outer wall,
Where bloomed their seasons wild-rose, daffodil,
Fresh daisy, hyacinth, and foxglove tall,
And many another flower at Nature's will:
And there she stood, the sweetest flower of all,
The Bloom-bright One, that eve, her maids amid,
The glory of her eyes by tears half hid.
Three javelin casts beyond the outer wall,
Where bloomed their seasons wild-rose, daffodil,
Fresh daisy, hyacinth, and foxglove tall,
And many another flower at Nature's will:
And there she stood, the sweetest flower of all,
The Bloom-bright One, that eve, her maids amid,
The glory of her eyes by tears half hid.
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There in barbaric splendor o'er the green
Were strewn the spoils from stubborn Mana won,
Broad golden bowls up-filled with sapphires sheen
And diamonds that once in beauty shone
On brow of Indian maid, or dusky queen
Of realms that burn 'neath Afric's blinding sun,
And chalices with pearls filled to the lips,
Brought thitherward by wandering Tyrian ships.
Were strewn the spoils from stubborn Mana won,
Broad golden bowls up-filled with sapphires sheen
And diamonds that once in beauty shone
On brow of Indian maid, or dusky queen
Of realms that burn 'neath Afric's blinding sun,
And chalices with pearls filled to the lips,
Brought thitherward by wandering Tyrian ships.
And there gleamed piles of linkèd armor gay,
And helms with crests that shone like yellow fire,
And plumes of that strange bird old legends say
Springs to new life from its own burning pyre,
And wondrous bucklers brought from far Cathay,
And bright stuffs from the golden looms of Tyre,
Baldricks and gilded torques and costly rings,
And jewelled swords fit for the sons of kings,
And helms with crests that shone like yellow fire,
And plumes of that strange bird old legends say
Springs to new life from its own burning pyre,
And wondrous bucklers brought from far Cathay,
And bright stuffs from the golden looms of Tyre,
Baldricks and gilded torques and costly rings,
And jewelled swords fit for the sons of kings,
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And drinking cups with carven slender stems,
Dishes of gold, and fairy baskets wrought
Of pearl and silver filled with emerald gems
Whose least would make ten misers' souls distraught,
And opals upon quaint old diadems,
And rubies on huge crowns of splendor brought
By Mananan from many a royal head
Of kingdoms by the sea long swallowèd.
Dishes of gold, and fairy baskets wrought
Of pearl and silver filled with emerald gems
Whose least would make ten misers' souls distraught,
And opals upon quaint old diadems,
And rubies on huge crowns of splendor brought
By Mananan from many a royal head
Of kingdoms by the sea long swallowèd.
Now on them from the reddening western skies
The sun shone and a blaze of glory made,
Ten thousand gnats and glistering dragon-flies
And glowing moths seemed circling round the glade,
And lizards' backs and myriad serpents' eyes
Tremulous to gleam by fern and grassy blade,
And all men wondered as they stood around
To see such treasures spread on mortal ground.
The sun shone and a blaze of glory made,
Ten thousand gnats and glistering dragon-flies
And glowing moths seemed circling round the glade,
And lizards' backs and myriad serpents' eyes
Tremulous to gleam by fern and grassy blade,
And all men wondered as they stood around
To see such treasures spread on mortal ground.
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Amid these priceless hoards young Blanid stood
With all her lovely bower-maids weeping sore,
Her cloak fallen at her feet, her Tyrian hood
Thrown back, her gown's blue radiance rippled o'er
By her bright silken hair, a tawny flood
That almost reached the smooth glade's emerald floor,
Where glanced the white pearls on her broidered shoon
Like silver-glistening dew-drops 'neath the moon.
With all her lovely bower-maids weeping sore,
Her cloak fallen at her feet, her Tyrian hood
Thrown back, her gown's blue radiance rippled o'er
By her bright silken hair, a tawny flood
That almost reached the smooth glade's emerald floor,
Where glanced the white pearls on her broidered shoon
Like silver-glistening dew-drops 'neath the moon.
And round the glade, leaning on their long spears,
Stood the great knights, the marrers of her mirth,
Who looked on her as though with doubts and fears
That her bright beauty had no mortal birth;
For, nathless her keen sorrow and her tears,
The red of all the roses of the earth
Seemed on her lips, and in her eyes the blue
Of all the violets that since Adam grew.
Stood the great knights, the marrers of her mirth,
Who looked on her as though with doubts and fears
That her bright beauty had no mortal birth;
For, nathless her keen sorrow and her tears,
The red of all the roses of the earth
Seemed on her lips, and in her eyes the blue
Of all the violets that since Adam grew.
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Advanced beyond the throng and towering high
Stood he whose might the magic wheel did tame,
With spear in hand, the lightning of his eye
From his barred helmet glinting like a flame,
As drew Dun Dalgan's mighty lord anigh
And spoke aloud: “O knight without a name,
To whom we owe the castle's mastery,
Choose now thy jewel, whatsoe'er it be!”
Stood he whose might the magic wheel did tame,
With spear in hand, the lightning of his eye
From his barred helmet glinting like a flame,
As drew Dun Dalgan's mighty lord anigh
And spoke aloud: “O knight without a name,
To whom we owe the castle's mastery,
Choose now thy jewel, whatsoe'er it be!”
Then strode he forth and laid his armèd hand
Upon the shrinking shoulder of the maid:—
“I choose,” he said, “this flower of all the land,
This priceless gem in beauty's garb arrayed;
And if there be amongst this soldier band
A lord or prince of honor so unstaid
As now to say me nay, then I stand here
To prove my well-won right with shield and spear!”
Upon the shrinking shoulder of the maid:—
“I choose,” he said, “this flower of all the land,
This priceless gem in beauty's garb arrayed;
And if there be amongst this soldier band
A lord or prince of honor so unstaid
As now to say me nay, then I stand here
To prove my well-won right with shield and spear!”
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There fell a surly silence on the throng,
And all their valiant hearts grew cold as stone,
Their knightly promise pledged, or right or wrong,
To make the loveliest jewel there his own;
Wistful they stood and grieved, until erelong
Burst from their laboring breasts a bitter groan
Like the hoarse grumbling of the storm's last breeze
Dying amid the sturdy forest-trees.
And all their valiant hearts grew cold as stone,
Their knightly promise pledged, or right or wrong,
To make the loveliest jewel there his own;
Wistful they stood and grieved, until erelong
Burst from their laboring breasts a bitter groan
Like the hoarse grumbling of the storm's last breeze
Dying amid the sturdy forest-trees.
What recked they now of gems and stores of gold
But as poor gauds worthless in all men's eyes,
As from their midst they saw the hero bold
Through the green glades bear off the glorious prize,
With her bower-maids, her foster-mother old,
And a stout varlet of her house? The skies
Darkened apace, and the sun left them there
Dumb as the hollow night in their despair.
But as poor gauds worthless in all men's eyes,
As from their midst they saw the hero bold
Through the green glades bear off the glorious prize,
With her bower-maids, her foster-mother old,
And a stout varlet of her house? The skies
Darkened apace, and the sun left them there
Dumb as the hollow night in their despair.
149
The moon and stars shone bright on Mana's bay,
The winds were still, the drowsy sailors slept,
And all the mighty fleet in silence lay,
When from the shadow that the huge rocks kept
Over a little inlet bore away
The galley of the Nameless Knight, and swept,
With brawny arms and hands to ply the oar,
Towards Borka's blue-bright peaks from Mana shore.
The winds were still, the drowsy sailors slept,
And all the mighty fleet in silence lay,
When from the shadow that the huge rocks kept
Over a little inlet bore away
The galley of the Nameless Knight, and swept,
With brawny arms and hands to ply the oar,
Towards Borka's blue-bright peaks from Mana shore.
Over its royal deck were all things strewn
Fit for his weeping prize to rest upon,
Gemmed seats carved o'er with many an ancient rune,
Footstools, Ulidian webs of saffron lawn,
Thick cloths of gold, the Persian's gorgeous boon,
Gay Tyrian shawls that with strange brilliance shone,
And Norland furs, and tawny lions' hides
From the brown burning tracts that Nile divides.
Fit for his weeping prize to rest upon,
Gemmed seats carved o'er with many an ancient rune,
Footstools, Ulidian webs of saffron lawn,
Thick cloths of gold, the Persian's gorgeous boon,
Gay Tyrian shawls that with strange brilliance shone,
And Norland furs, and tawny lions' hides
From the brown burning tracts that Nile divides.
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Amidst them in her tameless agony
Prone on the deck long lay the Bright One low,
And yet no sighs would come her breast to free,
No tears to lighten her sad weight of woe;
At length she sat her up, and piteously
Crept nigh her foster dame, and to and fro
Rocked herself, moaning like a wounded hind
In a wild forest far from all mankind!
Prone on the deck long lay the Bright One low,
And yet no sighs would come her breast to free,
No tears to lighten her sad weight of woe;
At length she sat her up, and piteously
Crept nigh her foster dame, and to and fro
Rocked herself, moaning like a wounded hind
In a wild forest far from all mankind!
Then Mora crept anigh. “O child and friend!”
Said Blanid, “now our night of life's begun,
Our misery without a change or end;—
Where now are those kind Gods whose smiles we won
With prayers? Where now to shelter and defend
The helpless? While our hearts' sad currents run,
No more, no more they'll smile on us, and give
The sweet joys back that made life worth to live!
Said Blanid, “now our night of life's begun,
Our misery without a change or end;—
Where now are those kind Gods whose smiles we won
With prayers? Where now to shelter and defend
The helpless? While our hearts' sad currents run,
No more, no more they'll smile on us, and give
The sweet joys back that made life worth to live!
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“No more, no more my father's face we'll see,
Smiling farewell at night; alas! no more
Shall his fond arms of love be clasped round me
For morning's welcome; in the breach of gore
He lies with stiffened hand, the enemy
In piles around him heaped, his banner tore,
His bright sword broken, and his nobles all
Stretched stark beside him o'er red breach and wall.
Smiling farewell at night; alas! no more
Shall his fond arms of love be clasped round me
For morning's welcome; in the breach of gore
He lies with stiffened hand, the enemy
In piles around him heaped, his banner tore,
His bright sword broken, and his nobles all
Stretched stark beside him o'er red breach and wall.
“And my belovèd one, who with my sire
Shared all my heart, woe, woe for me and him!
No more where laughs the foxglove's gay attire
By the woodside we'll meet. Destruction grim
Hath plunged my native land in war's hot mire
Of blood! And now her fading shores grow dim!”—
And down the Bright One fell, and, lying prone,
Kept muttering to herself her parting moan:—
Shared all my heart, woe, woe for me and him!
No more where laughs the foxglove's gay attire
By the woodside we'll meet. Destruction grim
Hath plunged my native land in war's hot mire
Of blood! And now her fading shores grow dim!”—
And down the Bright One fell, and, lying prone,
Kept muttering to herself her parting moan:—
152
“Farewell to thee, Mana beloved!
Forlorn as thou art!
Too well was thy valiance proved,
Dear home of my heart!
No more shall thy halls of glory
Sound to the harp and flute;
Still, still is the minstrel's story,
And the voice of the bard is mute.
Forlorn as thou art!
Too well was thy valiance proved,
Dear home of my heart!
No more shall thy halls of glory
Sound to the harp and flute;
Still, still is the minstrel's story,
And the voice of the bard is mute.
“Farewell to thee, Mana beloved!
Alas! and alas!
Where the feet of my girlhood roved,
From the tangled grass
In my desolate place of roses
The grim, gray wolf doth whine,
And the bat 'mid the leaves reposes
In the bowers that once were mine.
Alas! and alas!
Where the feet of my girlhood roved,
From the tangled grass
In my desolate place of roses
The grim, gray wolf doth whine,
And the bat 'mid the leaves reposes
In the bowers that once were mine.
“Farewell to thee, Mana beloved!
To thy guest-halls bright,
Where the fingers of minstrels moved
Unto sounds of delight!
Farewell to thy vale and forest,
Thy cincture of sea-waves green,
And the mantle of joy thou worest
In the happy days that have been!”
To thy guest-halls bright,
Where the fingers of minstrels moved
Unto sounds of delight!
Farewell to thy vale and forest,
Thy cincture of sea-waves green,
And the mantle of joy thou worest
In the happy days that have been!”
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Again crept Mora to her, whispering,
“What ails thee, dearest? Raise thy heart and cry
Unto the Gods! Perchance thy voice will bring
Upon our hapless state their kindly eye!
Bethink thee of the fair ones whom the wing
Of fortune flapped in anger! Did they die
In their first black despondency? Ah, no!
They lived to see joy ending all their woe!
“What ails thee, dearest? Raise thy heart and cry
Unto the Gods! Perchance thy voice will bring
Upon our hapless state their kindly eye!
Bethink thee of the fair ones whom the wing
Of fortune flapped in anger! Did they die
In their first black despondency? Ah, no!
They lived to see joy ending all their woe!
“Think of fair Etain's fortunate return
To her fond lover's arms from Midir's land,
Of young Fingalla and the Fairy Urn,
Of Enna on the Sea isle, and of Fand,
The princess who made many a brave heart burn,
Neim, Fea, and Fininda of the strand,—
She lived to see her sorrows pass away
And marry three good husbands in her day!
To her fond lover's arms from Midir's land,
Of young Fingalla and the Fairy Urn,
Of Enna on the Sea isle, and of Fand,
The princess who made many a brave heart burn,
Neim, Fea, and Fininda of the strand,—
She lived to see her sorrows pass away
And marry three good husbands in her day!
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“Arise, O darling of my heart! arise!
A mother I will prove to thee erelong
Far better than thy foster-dame, though wise
Tenfold she looks there by the bulwark strong
Sitting and gazing on us! Lift thine eyes
And kiss me, dearest! Woe and bitter wrong
May crush thee, yet, than me, thou'lt never find
A mother, sister, friend, more fond and kind!”
A mother I will prove to thee erelong
Far better than thy foster-dame, though wise
Tenfold she looks there by the bulwark strong
Sitting and gazing on us! Lift thine eyes
And kiss me, dearest! Woe and bitter wrong
May crush thee, yet, than me, thou'lt never find
A mother, sister, friend, more fond and kind!”
But still no softening tears her eyes would bless,
Till rose a light wind on the silver sea
Singing amidst the sails: then her distress
Seemed as a thing far off, and dreamily
All things grew mixed, as in her weariness
She laid her bright head on her fosterer's knee
And slept till morning broke, then up she sat
And moaned again, but yet no comfort gat.
Till rose a light wind on the silver sea
Singing amidst the sails: then her distress
Seemed as a thing far off, and dreamily
All things grew mixed, as in her weariness
She laid her bright head on her fosterer's knee
And slept till morning broke, then up she sat
And moaned again, but yet no comfort gat.
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And merrily hummed its song the galley's prore
As fast it clave the blue sea's glassy plain,
And through a winding inlet neared a shore
Whose sunny woods smelt fresh from recent rain.
Thereon they disembarked; then seaward bore
The lordly galley o'er the waves again,
Till far away sank down its tall mast's stem,
And left the Nameless Knight alone with them.
As fast it clave the blue sea's glassy plain,
And through a winding inlet neared a shore
Whose sunny woods smelt fresh from recent rain.
Thereon they disembarked; then seaward bore
The lordly galley o'er the waves again,
Till far away sank down its tall mast's stem,
And left the Nameless Knight alone with them.
There spread a lovely bank 'twixt wave and wood
Prankt o'er with sea-pink and blue violet,
And there she sat a space in vacant mood
And saw the flowers with hard eyes still unwet;
Then a fond memory came and brought the blood
Into her cheeks, and then a fierce regret
For her lost home and all her happy years
Burned in her heart, but yet she shed no tears!
Prankt o'er with sea-pink and blue violet,
And there she sat a space in vacant mood
And saw the flowers with hard eyes still unwet;
Then a fond memory came and brought the blood
Into her cheeks, and then a fierce regret
For her lost home and all her happy years
Burned in her heart, but yet she shed no tears!
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Like to a startled, mournful mountain erne
That sees its only fledgling droop and die,
And flaps her wings and screams along the fern,
The foster-dame looked in that haggard eye
With melting mother's heart that sore did yearn,
Then clapped her hands and raised a woful cry
Of sorrow, as one wails above the dead,
But still no answering tears young Blanid shed!
That sees its only fledgling droop and die,
And flaps her wings and screams along the fern,
The foster-dame looked in that haggard eye
With melting mother's heart that sore did yearn,
Then clapped her hands and raised a woful cry
Of sorrow, as one wails above the dead,
But still no answering tears young Blanid shed!
Whereat the great Knight smote his sounding shield
With deafening clang, and raised his voice aloud,
And from the shelter of the leafy weald
A tall squire led a war-horse prancing proud
With brass-shod hoofs adown the flowery field,
And head-plumes glancing like a tawny cloud,
And jangling rein and red caparison,
And glittering selle a King might sit upon.
With deafening clang, and raised his voice aloud,
And from the shelter of the leafy weald
A tall squire led a war-horse prancing proud
With brass-shod hoofs adown the flowery field,
And head-plumes glancing like a tawny cloud,
And jangling rein and red caparison,
And glittering selle a King might sit upon.
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And after him another squire there came
Leading an ambling palfrey white as snow,
Fit for some princess or imperial dame,—
With archèd neck and stately pace and slow,
With many a gem its bridle bright aflame,
With pearls of price its saddle all aglow,
Its housings azure silks and cloth of gold,
A wonder and heart-gladness to behold!
Leading an ambling palfrey white as snow,
Fit for some princess or imperial dame,—
With archèd neck and stately pace and slow,
With many a gem its bridle bright aflame,
With pearls of price its saddle all aglow,
Its housings azure silks and cloth of gold,
A wonder and heart-gladness to behold!
Then other squires came forth with many steeds,
Varlets with sumpter mules, and everything
That thirst might yearn for, or that hunger needs,
In depths of woods and far-off journeying;
And soon the bank's green grass and flowery weeds
Smelt of the sweet repast, and in a ring
Sat they around, maids, foster-dame, and squire,
And feasted there to each one's heart's desire,
Varlets with sumpter mules, and everything
That thirst might yearn for, or that hunger needs,
In depths of woods and far-off journeying;
And soon the bank's green grass and flowery weeds
Smelt of the sweet repast, and in a ring
Sat they around, maids, foster-dame, and squire,
And feasted there to each one's heart's desire,
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Save the bright Maid. Listless and sad she ate
Her bitter crust without a sob or sigh,
As one who dreams some doom all desolate
Holds her in thrall she knows not where or why;
Then strong Ferkertnè took his harp and sate
Before her, and awoke with fervor high
A melody would raise one from the tomb
To melt her heart, but yet no tears would come!
Her bitter crust without a sob or sigh,
As one who dreams some doom all desolate
Holds her in thrall she knows not where or why;
Then strong Ferkertnè took his harp and sate
Before her, and awoke with fervor high
A melody would raise one from the tomb
To melt her heart, but yet no tears would come!
Whereat Ferkertnè whispered, “O thou flower
Of constant womanhood, another strain
May strike thy heart! One day in wildwood bower
I heard the man thou lovest sore complain,
Singing to thee, as though by some God's power
Thou wert beside him, while beyond the main
In Mana's halls thou wert! His words I'll sing
To ope thy laden heart, thy tears to bring:—
Of constant womanhood, another strain
May strike thy heart! One day in wildwood bower
I heard the man thou lovest sore complain,
Singing to thee, as though by some God's power
Thou wert beside him, while beyond the main
In Mana's halls thou wert! His words I'll sing
To ope thy laden heart, thy tears to bring:—
159
SONG.
“When the winds in the wood are still,
And the lake sleeps calm in the hollow,
And the moon pours over the hill
Her light upon glade and tree,
I sit by the sparkling rill
And my thoughts the fleet waves follow
Like the flight of the early swallow
To the summer of love and thee.
And the lake sleeps calm in the hollow,
And the moon pours over the hill
Her light upon glade and tree,
I sit by the sparkling rill
And my thoughts the fleet waves follow
Like the flight of the early swallow
To the summer of love and thee.
“In the sapphire and rose of dawn
When the lark from his nest is springing,
And the dappled deer and the fawn
Come down to the wood-stream's shore,
I stand on the dew-bright lawn,
And list to the skylark's singing,
And think of thy sweet voice bringing
Its thrill to my heart once more.
When the lark from his nest is springing,
And the dappled deer and the fawn
Come down to the wood-stream's shore,
I stand on the dew-bright lawn,
And list to the skylark's singing,
And think of thy sweet voice bringing
Its thrill to my heart once more.
“When the west is purple and red
With the glory of sunset dying,
And the waves to the sky outspread
In the tremulous splendors burn,
I stray by the ocean bed,
The sea-birds around me flying,
And think in my sadness, sighing,
Of the hours that will ne'er return.
With the glory of sunset dying,
And the waves to the sky outspread
In the tremulous splendors burn,
160
The sea-birds around me flying,
And think in my sadness, sighing,
Of the hours that will ne'er return.
“In the flight of the wingèd hour,
In the changing of moon and season,
The seed upsprings in the flower,
And the flower 'neath the cold blast dies:—
There is change in the Sun-God's power,
There is death in the wind's unreason,—
In a woman's heart is there treason?
Is there falsehood in woman's eyes?
In the changing of moon and season,
The seed upsprings in the flower,
And the flower 'neath the cold blast dies:—
There is change in the Sun-God's power,
There is death in the wind's unreason,—
In a woman's heart is there treason?
Is there falsehood in woman's eyes?
“I prayed to the Gods at noon
That thou wouldst not hate or fear me,—
I asked of the Gods a boon
And they answered mine eager cry,
For a Voice in the wind of June
It answered that thou dost hear me,
That thou in thy thoughts art near me
However the hours flit by!”
That thou wouldst not hate or fear me,—
I asked of the Gods a boon
And they answered mine eager cry,
For a Voice in the wind of June
It answered that thou dost hear me,
That thou in thy thoughts art near me
However the hours flit by!”
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Still stubborn sat the Bright One, into space
Looking as though some dreadful shape upsprang
Before her, blotting out the sunny place
With its black shadow as the minstrel sang;
Then hid she 'tween her hands her troubled face,
Stricken like orchard flowers that listless hang
When the frosts come and th' East's pernicious wind
Blows on their bloom and leaves no life behind!
Looking as though some dreadful shape upsprang
Before her, blotting out the sunny place
With its black shadow as the minstrel sang;
Then hid she 'tween her hands her troubled face,
Stricken like orchard flowers that listless hang
When the frosts come and th' East's pernicious wind
Blows on their bloom and leaves no life behind!
But when the war-horse pranced with joyous neigh
Of pleasure at the moving melody,
Up sat she, looking on his harness gay,
And mused awhile, and then fond memory
Brought back to her bruised heart the happy day,
When 'mid the forest's sunny glades and free
Rode up her heart's beloved on such a steed
And slew the great bull in her hour of need.
Of pleasure at the moving melody,
Up sat she, looking on his harness gay,
And mused awhile, and then fond memory
Brought back to her bruised heart the happy day,
When 'mid the forest's sunny glades and free
Rode up her heart's beloved on such a steed
And slew the great bull in her hour of need.
162
Then, as an April morn awakes all red
With blushes bright, to end in glistening showers,
The crimson from her heart her cheeks o'erspread,
Her breast heaved, and she dropt amid the flowers
And swooned awhile, then woke and raised her head,
Like the young Moon within her silver bowers.
And torn with grief and racked with many fears,
She wept but got no comfort from her tears!
With blushes bright, to end in glistening showers,
The crimson from her heart her cheeks o'erspread,
Her breast heaved, and she dropt amid the flowers
And swooned awhile, then woke and raised her head,
Like the young Moon within her silver bowers.
And torn with grief and racked with many fears,
She wept but got no comfort from her tears!
Then heavy trouble fell on Ferkertnè,
He knew not why, but as he gazed on her
Strange voices whispered to him, “Thou art he
That lovest her the best!” and thoughts would stir
Within his brain and through his strong heart flee,
Shaking him as the hill-wind shakes the fir,
As mournfully he sat there till the sound
And bustling for departure echoed round.
He knew not why, but as he gazed on her
Strange voices whispered to him, “Thou art he
That lovest her the best!” and thoughts would stir
Within his brain and through his strong heart flee,
Shaking him as the hill-wind shakes the fir,
As mournfully he sat there till the sound
And bustling for departure echoed round.
163
Soon mounted they, and 'mid the forest green
Went downward through the breezy perfumed dells,
And sweetly the strong-towering trunks between
Came back the tinkling of the palfrey's bells
On the light wind, while flashed the sunlight sheen
From spears and swords and fluttering pennoncels
And caps and plumes and braveries golden gay,
Till through the wild-woods south they passed away.
Went downward through the breezy perfumed dells,
And sweetly the strong-towering trunks between
Came back the tinkling of the palfrey's bells
On the light wind, while flashed the sunlight sheen
From spears and swords and fluttering pennoncels
And caps and plumes and braveries golden gay,
Till through the wild-woods south they passed away.
| Blanid | |